Diablo 2: Dragon Chronicles
by Rastaban Bright
Summary: Jiraath, resurrected without speech or spirit-flame, has been told to aid the humans that fight against the Prime Evils. Can a dragon change the fate of humans? And how does one bring light without fire? UNDER REVIEW, ONCE AGAIN.
1. From Flood, Fire and Famine

Well, I don't know about you people, but my other Diablo 2 fanfiction (that is discontinued and shall not be restarted due to… well, partly laziness and other-partly that it kills me on the inside to read it and think that I wrote something like that. My main character was called Darkness. I MEAN COME ONNNNNN! Really. Emo streak back then or what?

Haha, way back when.

Yeah, anyway, I feel that I need to introduce why I am doing this story.

I love dragons and I still like D2. Even though it's graphics make me giggle. Pixel men. Sick.

And even before since starting the original D2 story (whatever it was called), I wanted to do this. I wanted to have a character that was a dragon. I wanted to have weird shit happen. I wanted to write about morals, human nature, belonging, spirituality and beliefs, discrimination and all the choices, good and bad, that we make.

Of course, when you're thirteen/fourteen you don't generally have much of a way to go about doing this because of the lack of life experience. But I have a little more grounds now. I'm a little older (not much), and my writing skills extend past my nose now. Simplicity and eloquence can be the same thing now. A story doesn't have to end happily, and what could be morbid doesn't have to be; and we don't have to be emo about everything. Oh. My. Gods. Peoples. I mean seriously. People crack really bad jokes all through wars.

So now, rather than writing to get reviews, I'm writing this to please myself. If I get constructive criticism along the way, excellent, but I won't correct anything. It will be used constructively in my book.

The M'Iirai and their culture concept is my brainchild.

Jiraath is just another name for my dragon character with her green bits removed. Please do not nick off with my characters or my named culture. (:

That is all.

--- --- ---

**PROLOGUE:**

It was a cycle, a wheel of life and death, birth and rebirth that had no beginning and certainly no end. Each year was a turning; each new moon was the beginning of a cycle; and each cracking egg was the death of an ancient.

For them, upon death, there was not nothing; there was a chance to live again and learn again in their own skin or that of another.

Theirs was an old race, made in time immemorial from the same stuff as the mountains, the forests, volcanoes and skies. A unity of the four elements in a single body. Smooth scaled, the colour of deserts, forests or stone; huge membrane wings, and the breath of fire.

They called themselves the M'Iirai; the Free People.

Humans call them Dragons.

---

Flight was such a beautiful thing. She thanked her ancestors who had discovered the wind under their wings as she soared and banked on the breeze. Her cousin was far below her, sweeping the field grass with his wing tips.

She blew at a low cloud that she soared towards her mountain home, an ancient and dead volcano that squatted over the Su'ari clan, her clan's valley. She pointed her sleek head east, towards the rising sun, and saw a foul black disfigurement marring the sky, just above the horizon. Something was ill with the world, and a cold feeling settled in her fire lung.

She felt a sharp pain in one of her chest muscles; she cried out in surprise, a sharp grating noise, and she dropped in altitude as one of her wings jarred against the pain.

The pain became agony as another bolt lodged near the first, and she dropped like a shot out of the sky. She saw her cousin speeding like a copper arrow towards her, fluting his fear. She saw the humans riding towards them with lances and crossbows.

An anguished scream echoed in her ears and the ground crashed into her neck.

---

**CHAPTER 1:**

_**From Flood, Fire and Famine**_

'_AWAKEN FIRE CHILD.' _

_Her vision returned, but she could not move, not even blink. _

'_I AM TYRAEL, YOU NEED NOT FEAR.'_

_A white light filled her vision before narrowing into a vague image of a humanoid stood before her. All else was blank. No light or darkness, except for that things glowing tendril-like wings._

'_FIRE CHILD, RISE.' Heat ran through her body and she was jerked to her feet, her front legs trembled under her weight. 'YOU ARE NEEDED. TERROR JOURNEYS EAST AND HIS BROTHERS AWAIT THEIR AWAKENINGS BY HIM.' She stared at him, comprehension dawning in her mind. 'BUT I AM WEAKENED NOW. I CAN NOT SEND YOU BACK WHOLE. YOU MUST BE REBORN AS WERE YOUR MOST ANCIENT FORBEARS.' Reborn._

_Reborn._

_She was dead. The truth came to her even as did the memory of the ground closing in on her; her body shook, whether in fear, apprehension or anticipation, she could not tell._

'_RISE, FIRE BREATHER, IN THE MANNER OF YOUR ANCESTORS, FROM EARTH AND FIRE; RISE AND SEEK THE WARRIORS WHO FIGHT THE DARKNESS. AID THEM.'_

_The white figure slowly faded from her vision. _

She felt compressed, as if in a womb, except all around her was grainy and moist and smelled of rain wet clay. It was comfortable. She could perhaps just stay there; they did not really need her. She sighed breathlessly, the blood was still in her veins, her lungs did not breathe and her heart did not pump.

They did not need a M'Iirai-ki, a dragoness.

'_THEY NEED YOU. THEY DO NOT KNOW IT. AND ONLY A FIRE CHILD CAN LIGHT THE DARKNESS _THEY_ HAVE MADE._

'_JIRAATH.'_

Heat shot through her earthen-clay womb at her naming. With that heat, came life, and the will to live. Jiraath clawed at the earth above her, she knew the sky was beyond. Her heart began to beat, and the blood pulsed with her _ji_, her spirit fire, roared like pure burning life through her.

Forth from the ground she burst like the magma from the mouth of a volcano. It was raining outside of the earth-womb. The droplets of water washed the red sandy clay off her desert coloured scales; an odd contrast to the dull green and grey forest around her. Jiraath collapsed and breathed hard as she felt the _ji_ slip from her body.

_In the manner of her ancestors._ That was what the white man-creature had said.

Jiraath struggled to her feet and coughed a growl; her voice, her words were gone. She was cursed with the tongue of the first M'Iirai, growls, snarls and warbles; not the lyrical words that her people used. With her _ji_ gone, so too was her fire, the fire breath that her kind wielded both as weapon and way of life.

Jiraath coughed again. She glanced around, there was a deep hollow in the sand clay that she had come from, upon inspection she noticed what looked like glowing red veins lining its walls. She shrugged; there were similar things within the birthing caves of her home.

She checked for her dark brown wings and felt a great deal of relief when she saw that they were.

Smoke was rising in the distance, a thin column, probably from a campfire; she set off at a fast trot, her long legs carrying her across the moors towards a motte wall of speared trees.

She stopped by a river that ran towards the…the encampment, she spied her reflection as she drank. She certainly looked the same. A copper-brown dragon with darker brown colouration on her face and down her spine; green eyes gazed back at her, perhaps brighter than before. Jiraath continued on her way.

The wooden wall was pressed up against the river, a gateway like opening around the corner from her side, opposite the river.

Jiraath increased her pace and rounded the corner, trotting towards a dirt track that led towards the gate. There was a whirring sound in the air; Jiraath darted to the side in time to see the shaft of an arrow lodge itself into the ground. A stunned yelp escaped her and she dashed sideways and saw the archer. A woman with gold hair tied back in a horse tail, she was clad in red leather armour and more importantly, was drawing another arrow.

She dodged it again, but didn't expect the explosion that followed the arrow's strike at the ground. She was knocked sideways by the blast; Jiraath managed to catch her balance and jolt herself forward and away from the approaching footsteps behind her.

_Stop!_ She tried to cry out, but it came as a humming growl. She spun to see the attacker and came face to face with a muscle-bulk of a man; she baulked and dodged past him, avoiding the swing of his club by a hair's breadth. Three more humans ran out from the forest, Jiraath could only catch the colours they wore, silver, black and a second figure wearing black. That was as much as she could notice before trying to dodge first anther arrow and then a second swing from the club.

'Vorak! Hold!' A male human's voice called across the moor. The huge man in front of Jiraath stopped swinging for a moment. 'Vorak, that isn't a demon! Cease your attack!'

Following that there was the sound of an argument, two males, the one who had yelled out – he had a rich and rhythmic voice – and another who had a slightly rougher voice but also held a slight chanting sound in it. She could not make out what they were saying; only that the arrows were not falling anymore.

Jiraath crouched and backed away from the man, standing her shoulder only came up to his waist; it was then she realised that she had diminished in size as well.

_Thank you._ Again this came out as a growl; she clamped her jaws shut when she saw the effect it had on the barbarian before her.

The club crashed down onto her head.

--- --- ---

End Chapter 1.

There may not be another of these for a while, so savour them ;-P


	2. By the Campfire

**CHAPTER 2:**

_**By the Campfire**_

_Oww. That hurt._

Throb.

_Oooowww._

Jiraath squeezed her eyes shut in vain hope that the ache in her skull would cease. It didn't of course, but the hope was still there. Waking up was not of a high priority for her at the moment. She easily recalled the sharp wallop to her head she received from the large burly man. Large, huge, massive; he was a mountain of a man, Jiraath was surprised he didn't have a clan of dragons nesting it his ears.

A Barbarian.

Woad paint and everything.

'You still haven't explained why you brought this…this thing into my camp.' An angry female voice rose over what Jiraath was beginning to recognise as the bubble of water in a river.

'That is no demon, it does not carry the evil energy that the other creatures carry, and it is not twisted in any way.' A soft male voice replied, she could hear the shuffling of clothes and that creaking sound that mail makes when it rubs against itself. This indeed warranted Jiraath to have a look so she forced her eyes open and was greeted with the bright…night. The light from the fire glared in her eyes, she groped inside herself for her energies as she would if she would try to quell a fire; but she found nothing.  
Her Ji was truly gone, she felt as if a part of her was missing. She blinked a few times to get used to the lighting, went to turn her head but a tug at her muzzle stopped her. She looked down her snout and saw something, then she felt it; rough, itchy and it smelled slightly mouldy, a rope around her muzzle connecting to a tree. There was not much slack between the two, so Jiraath had to watch the humans out of the corner of her eyes, this just made her head hurt worse. She winced and resigned to listening.

'I do not care if is a demon or not! It is a dangerous creature! It is making everyone in the camp edgy, and what if you're wrong? What if it is a demon and you can't…sense it.' The copper haired woman's emphasis on sense made her sound as if she thought it was all part of the druid mumbojumbo, which, consequentially, she did. Jiraath strained again to see out of the corner of her eyes, ignoring the thump of the headache. A druid, Jiraath knew that was what the man in the furs and leathers was, a not quite corporeal wolf sat at his feet, its translucent fur reflecting light from a source that could not be seen.  
There was another who sat with his black mail covered back to her, a bleached bone ridge ran down his spine and rib ridges encased his torso. Clearly he was a necromancer, the claw shaped pauldrons were not what gave that away, but the fact that she recognised his hair colour from one of the necromancer clans that lived nearby to her Su'ari clan's valley. They often traded with each other, rough rubies and other nest gems for books, scrolls and writing tools for the more nimble of claw. When she saw his talisman, she'd know if he was one of the necromancer's from her area.

A lilting female voice wafted into the conversation from outside of Jiraath's view, 'Even if you do not trust Weylin's senses, then you must trust Bran's, as a Dire wolf of the spirit world he can sense if there is evil. He clearly doesn't.' Point made, the woman fell silent.

From what Jiraath could see from her headache-inducing position, the copper headed woman, clearly didn't like any of the magick talk or being on the losing side of an argument, she huffed and left. The woman turned after she was a few metres passed and said,

'If you choose to keep that _thing_ in my camp, then you are _choosing_ to no longer be aided by my rogues. Anita, come.'

At that an uncomfortable looking rogue who had been positioned just behind Weylin, the druid, started. She glanced apologetically at the druid, who just waved his hand in acceptance and dismissal, and trotted off after the copper haired woman; not before tossing a slightly fearful look at Jiraath; and upon noticing Jiraath's being awake, quickly darted off.

'So.' A dark skinned man wearing a light brown linen shirt appeared in Jiraath's field of view. 'Who upset Kashya?' Weylin shrugged, the man glanced at the necromancer who merely looked up from whatever it was that he was doing, nodded his head at the druid, and then returned to ignoring the rest of them. 'Ah. So, anything from the lizard?'

_Stars, man, are you really that stupid? Dragon, draaagoooon. It's not that hard. I have wings for Rook's sake._ She growled under her breath and shuffled herself on the hard ground.

'Only that so far.' The necromancer said and glanced over his shoulder at Jiraath. She gave him her very best 'please untie me look' and received nothing for it. 'It is awake.' _She._ 'What do you want to do with it, druid?' _She, dickhole!_ She saw Weylin stand up and start to approach. Eventually when he was towering over her, and looking up at him hurt her head about as much as trying to watch people out of the corner of her eye hurt, he knelt down and looked steadily into her eyes. She watched back. Then huffed some dirt out of her nostrils and flicked her ears.

'She's a M'Iirai-ki.' He said after standing up again. _You're serious?_

'What's that?' The woman who had spoken before moved into Jiraath's vision, she was wearing a dark red knee-length tunic, a long staff in her hand. Not the Amazon who had been using her as target practice before, but a sorceress. A fire sorceress to be precise.

'M'Iirai-ki is their language for dragoness; _she_ is a dragon; albeit a rather small one.' The druid knelt down again, Jiraath saw the necromancer get up and turn around. His talisman was on a chain attached to his pauldron and the chest piece of his armour, it was a coiled snake carved out of blue obsidian; his eyes matched the talisman, seeming to glow even in the absence of light. It was not the mark of the clan neighbouring the Su'ari, and Jiraath felt disappointed at that.

'Aren't dragons supposed to be able to talk?' That was the dark man, the necromancer turned to him.

'Ever tried to talk with a rope holding your mouth shut?'

'Oh, very smart, Kedar.'

'Clearly. I have ten years on you, Javyn, which is ten years of practice that you do not have.'

Weylin waved them quiet; his amber eyes peered down at Jiraath, his shadow obscuring the firelight. 'I am going to take the rope off your mouth, do not fight me or the rogues will say I proved them right.'

_Right. Don't fight you and we all live another day. Woo._

The druid cut first the tether that held Jiraath's head to the pole and secondly the ropes holding her snout shut. When he was done he pulled his hands away to observe how she would react. Jiraath opened and shut her mouth, stretching her jaw muscles and snorted.

'Can you speak?' Weylin asked.

Jiraath stared at him, trying to figure out how to say no with her eyes. She tried to voice it but it came out again as a nasal growl. She sighed and watched him, waiting for his reaction.

Weylin furrowed his brow and turned to the others, 'She has no power of voice.' He shook his head. Kedar shrugged, bent over and picked up his stew bowl and hobbled a little closer to the camp fire, trying to heat it up again. Javyn turned to the fire sorceress.

'Tamsin, do you know anything of these creatures?' She wound a finger through her hair and looked at him in a mockingly coy manner.

'Why, would I ever? I thought you knew all things, paladin; where to hide, where to aim, how to use my staff in battle.' She flashed her hands in front of her, 'Everything.'

'Children, please, stop bickering. I have a nice stew here that is being spoiled.' Kedar raised his voice over the paladin and sorceress' argument. They stopped in a huff and parted, Jiraath blinked at this, she did not understand human ages well. To her they were small and pink, they spent a long time as adults and then suddenly got old, gray and died. Necromancers confused her further; they were almost always white or grey, spent most of their lives being such and then suddenly disappeared. She didn't even know if they died, not with the energies they worked with. Kedar looked over to Weylin after the younger two were gone, 'He's paying for the fixing of her staff, but she is still sore about it getting broken.' Weylin just shrugged.

'The rogues will want one of us to watch her tonight.'

'I do not blame them.' _I do._ 'It is bad enough for them that I am here, I think I scare all the young ones.' Kedar shrugged and spooned some of the stew into his mouth. He looked thoughtful. 'Well, whatever you are doing tomorrow, I do not believe that I will be able to help. After that wound I got from the Smith today, I think I will need to rest it.' He stretched out his left leg; his thigh was wrapped in bandages. 'That being the case, I would be quite content to keep an eye on her tonight.'

Weylin nodded; the fire light making his wood coloured hair shine copper, 'Thank you.' The druid stood up and stretched his legs, he took a seat on the ground next to Bran, the Dire wolf whuffed his neck and then went back to sleep. 'I'll tell you something, Kedar. I can feel animals; I can sense their emotions, fear or comfort and make sense of them into thoughts. I cannot read this dragon.' He went quite.

_Maybe it's because I'm special? Or because I'm not an animal?_

A chill ran down Jiraath's back, the spines down her neck and rump raised a little.

_Or is it because I died?_

---

_This chapter is something of a set up, show you the characters. Establish a few thingamyjigs. Yup._

_Characters:_

_Kedar is the Necromancer from the Kur'Oul clan. Worshippers of Trag'Oul, priests of Rathma etc. Also he is about thirty six. _

_Javyn is a junior Paladin (: He's twenty six hence the 'ten years on you' comment. Doesn't see the Necromancer as a threat but doesn't particularly like him and tries to show this through biting comments which he successively fails at. Death humour wins._

_Weylin is the most awesome druid. Enigma. Yay._

_Bran is a Dire Wolf. Spirit of the ancient wolves._

_Tamsin is a Fire Sorceress, while she can use stuff from the other disciplines she specialises in fire._

_Barbarian, we'll see him in like…ages…not now though. :D_

_Amazon, she's uhh, here. Yeah. Will be. :F _

_Toodlewhoops!_

_~Ark_


	3. Compromise and Understanding

_Yesterday I dared to struggle. Today I dare to win._

--Bernadette Devlin

_The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong._

--Ghandi

**CHAPTER 3:**

_**Compromise and Understanding**_

Weylin, Tamsin and Javyn had left early that morning after retrieving the sorceress's now fixed staff; Jiraath had heard them say something about cleaning out a forgotten tower so that it could not be used as an outpost for demon spawn. At that moment she was lying by the smouldering coals of the fire, flicking any beetle unfortunate enough to trundle past to its slightly sizzling doom. She heard the uneven footsteps of what she guessed was Kedar limping up to a nearby log.

'Having fun there?' He yawned; he had kept an eye on her for most of the night, being relieved only for a few hours by Weylin. Jiraath rolled her eyes to look at him in what she hoped would look like an expression of pure innocence. Kedar coughed a laugh into his hand and Jiraath assumed that it either worked or failed horribly. She tried to be optimistic.

A man in blue desert attire strolled up to them, Kedar had put a rabbit and some rice and raw vegetable on a plate and given it to Jiraath, and she gnawed at the capsicum with utter glee.

'So, Mister Necromancer, why aren't you going with the other today?' Warriv, Jiraath recalled his name over the hind leg of the rather tasty rabbit.

'I was injured while we were retrieving the Horadric Malus for Charsi, the bastard chucked one of his spears at me and I did not move in time. Frost enchantment imbued on it made my leg numb for the trip back.'

'Ah, well, I hope it does heal.'

'It's on its way; I just need to rest it.'

Jiraath finished chewing the skull of the rabbit into a nice paste and swallowed. She stood up and stretched, her wings strained against the rope around her middle that the rogues had insisted on keeping on her. Warriv inched a little further away from her on his log; Jiraath didn't bother sparing him a look and instead glanced around the campfire area, looking for something to fight off the Boredom. She stared back at Kedar in hopes that he would understand. Their eyes met, Kedar jerked sideways and jarred his leg, and he gripped his leg and looked again at Jiraath with an expression somewhere between curious and cautious. At that moment, Warriv decided that it was safer somewhere else so he got up and trotted off towards the blacksmith.

'You just…' Kedar was lost for words. Jiraath's ears dropped, she lowered her head.

_What the hell was that? Did I do that?_ Instead of walking away like Jiraath had expected, Kedar stood up and limped over to her, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look up again and into his iridescent blue eyes.

'That makes no sense.' He limped around her, looking her over, 'No sense at all, I have never encountered this before.'

_Wut?_

He sighed and glanced back down at her, she watched him apprehensively. 'I suppose nothing can be done. You are bored are you not?' She nodded.

_So very, very Bored. Struck down by the Boredom._ She followed his gaze to a stick on the ground. _I'm not a dog, I don't play fetch._

'Now, I am rather sure you would not play fetch.' He turned and observed the camp. 'The rogues would also prefer you did not roam the camp either.' He scratched at the white and black stubble on his chin. 'I could see if I could take you outside the encampment walls. A moment.' He stood up and walked to the edge of the campfire area. 'KASHYA!'

There was a moment of silence, then:

'WHAT?' As the red headed rogue captain appeared. 'Why don't you come to me if you wish to speak.' She sneered, Kedar simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

'Because I was to keep an eye on the dragon and not leave the fireside.' Kashya glared at him.

'What do you want?'

'_m bored._

'I wish to take the dragon outside the encampment, I could use the stretch, and she's getting bored.' Kashya snorted.

'I don't care if it's bored, bleeding or tap dancing.'_ Now that I should try._ 'I don't want it going anywhere that I or my rogues can't see it.'

'I will be able to see her.'

'And a fat lot of good that will do for us, _Necromancer._' Kedar straightened and squared his shoulders.

'Which would lead me to wonder why you still do not trust me?' Jiraath could just see Kedar's face from where she was standing, it seemed blank but there were traces of incredulity and frustration.

'Why should I trust you? You and your kind have done nothing but wreak havoc and hell upon all other people!'

'Now that is just not true.'

'Such you would say, filth! You shall not see even an ounce of my trust!' Kashya was a storm of resentment; she snarled something quietly and listened to Kedar's equally spiteful reply, and then stalked away. Kedar watched her leave with a rather dissatisfied expression.

'Come, we can walk.'

Jiraath chirruped and trotted after him.

'I never thought I would see the day that a paladin was less hostile towards me than anyone else.'

_I second that._

They pasted an empty tent, the flap was open and they could see a recently vacated bedroll.

'Ah, so Vorak has left us.' Jiraath looked up at him, recalling the name. Kedar noticed and grinned sheepishly. 'The one who clobbered you over the head with his club.'

_Ah. The Barbarian._ She made a grumbling growl sound under her breath and bobbed her head in remembrance of the bloody club.

'Yes, Vorak received a hawk late last evening, before you awoke; it was apparently calling him home to Harrogath.' Kedar shrugged and limped a little faster towards the camp gates.

-

_Aaaahhh, grass._ Jiraath dug her claws into the dew spangled grass and stretched; she looked over her shoulder at Kedar and saw him watching her, a dagger in his hand. She growled and spun, her crest of spines standing upright. _You…_ Kedar held up his hands and shook his head.

'No, no, it's not like that. I simply thought it would be nice if you had the rope around your middle cut.' Jiraath relaxed, but not much; Kedar put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. 'What? You think that I would have gone through all that with Kashya just to bring you out here and kill you?'

_Well, no...but..._ She cocked her ears and turned her head to watch him out of one eye.

'Exactly, now, come here so I can cut that off, and you can go…frolic.'

Jiraath slunk towards him, belly down; he caught hold of the rope and cut it neatly with the dagger. The pressure came off her wings and she jumped back, opening them to flap.

'They are rather nice, aren't they?' Kedar commented.

_What?_ She glanced at him and wrinkled her nose briefly.

'I mean, you have an interesting pattern on the back around the wing fingers, like the rings on a moth's wing.' Jiraath snorted happily, the darker brown of her back continued onto her wings only to be interrupted by three charcoal brown rings, one inside the other; they were her family markings. Only her father did not have them because he had mated into her mother's family. Jiraath glanced at the wide area around her and set off at a lope in a large circle around Kedar. He watched with his hands on his hips.

She opened her wings as she ran and flapped a couple of times, the ground fell away beneath her and she flew a few low circles before landing. Her pectoral muscles hurt; she hadn't used them since she had been reborn. _Such a strange thought._

_-  
_

As evening began to fall, they made their way back into the rogue encampment. Kedar had replaced the rope around Jiraath's middle but had made it a lot looser than it had been, to his credit.

As they came into the campfire area Jiraath noticed a glowing portal, she nudged Kedar's hip and pointed at it with her nose when he looked down.

'That's the result of a town portal scroll, see the wall behind it? That wall has certain magic runes on it that are the same as some magic runes on the portal scrolls or the pages of the portal tomes.'

_Ah, focus some magic and poof, a portal, yes?_

'You just focus some magic on the scroll, generally say something like 'open portal' for focus and poof there's a portal.'

_One day we will have to get over this repetition that we have going here._

Out of the portal came first Javyn, he turned and held out a hand as if to help someone through, but Tamsin smacked his hand away as she appeared on the town side of the portal. Weylin followed, shaking his head, a bag in his hand; behind him a built, blonde woman appeared, armoured in a red scale leather cuirass and holding a long bow. Jiraath hadn't seen her at the campfire the previous night, but she remembered the Amazon and her arrows. She hissed quietly and stepped behind Kedar for cover, he didn't notice; Kedar limped over to Weylin leaving Jiraath without anything to hide behind. She slunk back over to the fire and listened, her ears pricked to the warriors' voices.

'How was the tower?' Kedar asked, sounding rather amiable, Jiraath guessed he was speaking to the druid; the two older men seemed to be rather good friends.

'Dark, dank, and smelled of age old boots.' Javyn responded before Weylin could open his mouth. He shrugged instead.

'Something like that.'

'The Countess was an eyesore. Demonic energy had been keeping her alive for long enough that the blood she bathed in had made her skin red.' A sound of disgust emanated from the general area of Tamsin who was washing demon blood off her hands in a rather conveniently placed bowl.

'Lovely.' Kedar.

'Rather.'

_Indeed._

Tamsin turned and dispelled the portal and Javyn continued, 'There was a lot of discarded weaponry, but some of it looked like it had been there for centuries. Oh, Kedar, you'll never guess what we found.'

The necromancer's hands went to his hips. 'A conspiracy theory?'

'Yes. They want to steal everyone's boots to make a boot monster. Also, we found your sword that was knocked into the river way back when we were cleaning up the graveyard.'

'Ah, excellent.' Kedar retrieved the longsword from Javyn's outstretched arm; there was a blue stone inset into the pommel, a similar colour to his eyes.

Jiraath reached up with her hind leg to scratch behind her ear, the movement must have caught the Amazon's eye because what followed was less than pleasant.

'What is the lizard doing untied?' No one looked particularly surprised in return; Kedar went to offer an explanation. _No, it's 'What is the DRAGON doing untied?' Really, you people._

'She's not a th-'

'I did not ask you _necromancer_.' Jiraath just heard Kedar mutter an 'oh dear' under his breath. Weylin stood up, every six and a half feet of him, actually managing to tower over the reasonably tall Amazon.

'She is no threat; you were not at the fireside last night, so you, Kiyana, would not know that; for that you are excused. However, we all would appreciate it if you directed a little more respect to our necromancer companion.'

Kiyana glared at both of them, muttered something about men knowing nothing about hidden and subtle threats, and stalked off towards a tent that she presumably occupied.

'Thanks you lot,' Tamsin sounded off-put, 'I have to put up with her tonight.'

_Is everyone going to see me like that?_ Jiraath snorted, some floating soot went up her nose and she sneezed. _No._ She comforted herself, trying to think of her mother, she couldn't picture her. _There are others who are not hostile towards you._ She coughed. _What are four against four hundred?_ Her ears drooped, how she wished for another dragon to talk to, or even just to lie by.

Weylin cleared his throat, 'Everyone get some good rest tonight. We are going to need everyone tomorrow.' Jiraath saw the Amazon emerge from her tent to stand in the half light of the fire, listening. His voice dropped, 'We begin our assault on the monastery tomorrow, we leave at dawn. Prepare yourselves, bring all the healing and refreshing potions you will need, also bring some antidotes; the demoness Andariel is a powerful poison mage. We must defeat her in order to continue towards the East and avenge those who are dead.' The mood had become sombre; a few eyes glanced at Kedar. Poison. Death. Necromancer.

_To them he represents everything they fight against._ Jiraath shook herself, her wings rubbed against the rope around them.

-

Jiraath lay back down by the fire. _That was rather sudden; bam! and the druid announces that they are attacking Andariel._ She paused and stretched out on the ground. _Or not that sudden. They have been here for a while. I'm the one who doesn't belong here._ She huffed; the sound of bare feet on the dirt approached her from behind. She tilted her head and saw Weylin looking down on her.

'We are supposed to keep an eye on you so you will be sleeping in the tent that I am in, for tonight.' Jiraath rose and followed him; she knew that any rogues watching would think that she was just like one of the druid's wolves, an animal that did his bidding because it trusted him.

She just desperately missed the company of her clanmates.

_---_

_I feel for some reason that this chapter may be jumbled. It's an aggravating thought, because I know that more could be in there, or less and written better but I can't be buggered to change anything._

_Also, to the Phrenologikal Cat: Yes, Jir tends to be a bit like that, she is a dragon after all, she doesn't get all the fussing. Nor does she like it. Also, the stew they serve in that camp is not that good. Kedar is bluffing. (not that you mentioned the soup.)_

_Squishy and pink? Oh my. I may have a place for that exact quote. _

_AlsoAlso: Grimm Gun: )8=: Amazon no likey dragon. Reason why yes. Rogue no likey dragon, reason why no. Preejuuudiiiccce._


	4. Fear of the Dark

It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.  
_-- Unknown._

_.  
_

**CHAPTER 4:**

_**Fear of the Dark**_

_**...  
**_

It must be the individuals that she liked; because, on the whole, Jiraath was finding the human race to be rather…boorish. A bit like an angry toad that has nothing better to do than sit next to your ear when you are trying to sleep and croak until the ungodly hours in the morning, and then claim that it is all part of a divine plan.

Or, it may be because she really, really hated underground lairs. Catacombs, jails, the lot. All underground. Jiraath could have stayed in the camp, but nooo, Kashya just had to get uppity about it and convince the group of humans to take her on their little quest.

A rock fell from the ceiling and she jumped, letting go of a tense hiss that had been building up behind her teeth; all this earned her was an arrow's tip poking her in the rump and a sharp reprimand from the Amazon who was holding it.

Maybe it was the arrow in her butt that was making her think that. Most likely.

At least with the dark colouration of her back, Jiraath was able to camouflage into the shadows a little more. She was feeling a little sick, she had to admit to herself, after seeing the mutilated and defiled corpses all through the jails, they had chanced upon a cell with a single rogue tucked in the corner, jabbering unintelligibly. When they had tried to talk to her, she had started screaming, 'GET AWAY GET AWAY', she had kept screaming until the silent zombie creature had appeared from the shadows and torn her jaw off before the balls of fire, the arrows and the spears of concentrated death energy had destroyed it. She bled out as she screamed past gurgling blood, and they searched for a door that was not there.

Jiraath sniffed, poor Tamsin had been in a bad way since that, she was alright with undead and the corrupted rogues, she could dissociate from them, but when she was actually confronted with a scene such as that…she was white as death. Javyn, too, had slowly paled as they came, _Rook help the poor boy, because his own god doesn't seem to be helping him that much other than the 'holy' magic he casts._

Jiraath could swear that the Amazon was the least affected of them all, including the Necromancer, and not surprisingly so because Jiraath could swear that she had spent the entire way with her eyes on her butt, just waiting for the moment that the dragoness would set a foot wrong. Kedar was still limping a bit, but had surrounded himself with something of a fine powder of bones, making him seem to shimmer a bit when light hit him. _Reminds me of the magic tricks that the Marrha sea dragons would do when our clans met to trade._

Weylin and his wolves were on the hunt. That was the impression that Jiraath was getting, it was very animal. Those two men were otherwise unreadable. Which wasn't saying much; human expressions were hard to read; they didn't have crests, mobile ears or hackle scales that they could express with. They just wiggled bits of their faces. And showed their teeth a lot…even when they were happy. Jiraath just couldn't understand that.

No one had spoken otherwise since they had entered the catacombs. Andariel, or so the old man who had appeared by the fire had said, was in the lowest part of the catacombs, where the most important of rogues were buried. A demon queen he had called her. Jiraath would shudder to think of what a demon queen would be in comparison to the hideous lesser ones, she would shudder now but she was concerned about getting an arrow tip in her rump again.

---

Javyn seemed to do all he could to remain on the other side of the group to Kedar; the older necromancer ignored him and concentrated on wiping out whatever threat appeared. Jiraath watched his cold command of death energies, watched him raise skeletal warrior and skeletal mage every time another of his dead minions fell. But where Jiraath could glimpse into why some feared him, she had the extra benefit of being protected by them; she could not understand why someone would fear a person who would only protect them, regardless of means. It was like a fire dragon fearing a water dragon when the water dragon was trying to protect the fire, simply because it was from the sea, Jiraath thought it was silly. Clearly Javyn would not have agreed with her. He had been increasingly leery around Kedar since they had entered the catacombs, his guarded courtesy seemed to be reserved only for the encampment as if by some unspoken rule he had to be mannered; here, in the deep and tainted catacombs he acted far more on his deep seated fears.

---

They were approaching the stairs that would lead them to the fourth level of the catacombs; Tamsin shakily pulled out a tome of town portal scrolls in preparation to open one once they had descended. Jiraath glanced behind her, the Amazon was rubbing her right shoulder, she looked drawn and tired, and all of them did.

Jiraath breathed in deeply, with every intention of sighing afterwards until she noticed the rotten thickness of the lung-full she had taken. Then the stench hit them. The fetid smell of ammonia and bile, faeces and burnt flesh. Jiraath half expected to hear the moaning that the relatively fresh zombies on the higher levels had made, but there was nothing except a faint rasping sound that gradually grew louder. The group drew into a protective circle, back to back to back, warily looking for the dark corridor down which the impending undead would lumber. The rasping sounded like someone dragging many hands along the moulded stone walls. The smell was suffocating and the zombies had not even appeared yet. Jiraath swayed on her feet, overwhelmed by strength of the smell, she retched and coughed the acidic taste of dragon vomit out of her mouth. She glanced upwards, down the corridor that lead to the stairs, and saw them clamouring on putrefying joints towards them. Jiraath hissed and caught the Amazon's attention with a brush of her wing; the woman saw the zombies and alerted the rest of the group.

Fluidly, the humans around her moved, arranged themselves in a strategic position around the mouth of the corridor; Amazon and sorceress with their backs to the wall opposite the mouth, paladin, druid and necromancer.

Immediately pyrogenic missiles and arrows breezed past Jiraath. She counted in her head the zombies she could see, one…nine…twelve. At least twelve. She crouched and recalled something that Kedar had said as they had entered the monastery.

'Don't let the zombies bite you.' Javyn had scoffed at him.

'What? Will we turn into them?' Cliché's forgiving, his voice had been dripping with sarcasm.

'No. It hurts like a bitch.' Which had clearly been the end of the conversation.

_So, that means don't get bitten. Which is the worst they really do, other than stink. And bitchslap._ Jiraath tensed and leapt forward, running for the wall, to get around and behind them. The walls gave under her claws and allowed her to direct a jump up and over the heads of the undead.

Not one decaying head turned, no arms flung out at her. One mandible dropped, but that was due to the tendons holding it on the zombie's face finally giving up. Jiraath started hacking away at their legs with tail and claws, avoiding going near them with her face. A couple of the zombies fell; they started to drag themselves towards the humans. Completely ignoring her. She slammed her forefeet into their head and necks, it seemed to work, they stopped moving. A ball of fire cut through two zombies in front of her and grazed her wing; she yelped and was answered with a weak cry of 'sorry!'

One of the zombies turned when she ripped its arm off with her claws, it turned back shortly afterwards and continued its advance on the humans.

Their numbers were dwindling, only three left, which were quickly felled by five arrows, a small fireball and an angry wolf.

The smell of rot hit Jiraath again and she wretched again, she decided that she far preferred the necromancer's clean skeletons which only smelled of old metal, sweaty hands and parchment. She trotted up to the humans, they were tired, as was she, and the Amazon didn't even raise her weapon.

Weylin coughed, 'We need to take a break; we have been going at this for almost an entire day.' Kedar was heading towards the stair well. 'Kedar.' The white haired man turned and raised an eyebrow. _There's another part of their face that they wiggle? What the hell is it supposed to mean?_ 'Where are you going?'

'The stair well is just here; I'm going to quickly have a look on the other level. It may be safer to open a portal there than here. Zombies have more than a little trouble getting down stairs.' There was a tense pause, Weylin nodded. He crouched and rested an arm on Bran's back. Jiraath glanced back at Kedar, she figured that he knew what he was doing, and then sniffed noses with Bran. The spirit wolf seemed to squint at her, like it was trying to see through her. Its eyes glowed briefly and it snuffled at Weylin's cheek.

'What?' The wolf's glowing eyes pulsated. Weylin nodded and glanced at Jiraath strangely, he sighed. 'We will worry about that when this is over, alright Bran?' The wolf flicked an ear in response. A yes, in body language.

Jiraath sat next to the wolf, she was about half a foot taller at the shoulder than it was, but that still only meant that her head topped at four and a half feet. She could have sworn she was bigger before.

Kedar appeared out of the stair well. 'It seems clear down here, there's a large double door, and I think that leads to the antechamber before the catacomb gallery.' He rolled his shoulder and it cracked, Jiraath saw Tamsin wince at the sound. 'If we do not touch those doors it will be safest to open a portal back to the encampment there, rather than here which is open to attack from all sides.' Jiraath saw most of the others nodding in agreement; they moved down through the passage that had previously been crowded with zombies, Tamsin and the Amazon, _Kiyana, that's her name,_ caught their breath as they passed the corpses. Once they all had passed and had started going down the stairs, Jiraath turned as she heard a muttering.

Kedar stood over a couple of the corpses, after a short incantation the skeletal remains of three of them rose up; each wielded a magic in their hands, ice, fire and electricity. Javyn had paused beside her and witnessed the raising; he made a disgusted sound and paced down the stairs faster than he had started. Jiraath sniffed at the skeletons as they passed her, out of pure curiosity, and found that they no longer smelled vile.

_I like the smell of old leather boots._

Once they were all on the same floor Weylin began rummaging in a small sack for a scroll of town portal. Tamsin stood by Kiyana wringing her staff anxiously, the Amazon took the sack from Weylin and held it open for him to make it easier for him to feel about in. Jiraath sat down at the foot of the stairs where she would be able to hear if anything decided to come near them. Kedar glanced at everyone, the same blank look on his face that he had worn the entire time they had been in the catacombs. 'Just do not touch any of the barrels, at least until we return.' This just irritated Javyn.

'You didn't check to see if there were any zombies or skeletons hidden in them?'

'No, at that point I did not have enough energy to deal with them if there were.'

'But you had enough energy to raise three of the dead back up there?' Javyn's voice was rising. Jiraath shifted her wings and tapped her claws on the stone floor, wishing that he would be a little more quiet.

'You would do well to keep your voice down, Javyn.' Kedar replied, and Javyn, although angry, was not a fool and lowered his voice in kind. _Again with the repeat-y thing._

'So we could have just walked into a trap, and you would have gladly lead us into it?'

'Only if you planned to kick, sit on, stand near or have a picnic in close proximity to the barrels. But I was fairly sure that we had all learned from the barrels higher up in the catacombs.' Kedar responded calmly, which only served to agitate the young paladin further; he took a step back to turn his body so he could point to the rather large number of barrels in the room. What he had not expected was for the stonework under his foot to crumble and give way into a pool of what looked to be boiling blood. He stumbled out of it, away from the barrels, but the rupture in the floor caused one of the barrels to splinter. A mouldering hand began tearing at the wood and another appeared and stretched out towards Javyn who paled from his position on the ground. Kedar flung a cluster of barbs of death energies that he had begun to call 'teeth'. The rotting hands quickly stopped moving. The necromancer turned and reached down to give the paladin hand up. Javyn pushed is arm away violently and let out a strangled 'don't touch me'.

Jiraath watched from the base of the stairs, she flicked her tail idly as she watched the necromancer and paladin argue. It reminded her of a pair of her cousins; they were brothers and would argue in a similar fashion. They always managed to work around their problems with each other, but that was because they were family. But even if it was a belief based argument, Jiraath did not see the sense; dragons from different areas often had varying beliefs, but – namely because of external threats – they had discovered that the beliefs covered common ground. That was the reason that the clans often had good relationships. Although there were some extreme clans who had an 'all or nothing' mentality.

Kedar sighed and left Javyn to get up on his own, he made his way over to the _fwishooow_ of an opening portal; Jiraath rose and followed. She noticed three things when they started to cross through the portal, the first being that the Amazon hadn't so much as looked at her so Jiraath assumed that she may just be safe from the arrow-in-the-butt. Secondly that Kedar's limp had suddenly become pronounced, where it had hardly showed as they had walked through the halls of the catacombs.

Lastly that there was a time delay between entering the portal and appearing on the other side.

_Oh, hell no._ Was what went through her mind as Weylin, with a decisively cheerful grin, pushed her through with his foot.

---

---

_I'm beginning to think that these chapters are rather poorly written. They seem, disordered to me, please let me know what you think, if there is any way that you see that I could fix that up._

_Anyhoo. Thus another chapter. Woohoo._

_I promise that nothing will happen the next chapter either. ;P_

_Ta-ta ladies._

dragonsdemons.

}:=8D


	5. Reconciliation Deconciliation

Excerpts from Adijhan's notes on dragons:

'Dragons have their own names for their hands, _bak_ refers to their hind feet and _bar_ refers to their hands, both terms roughly translate to 'claw', although when speaking in human tongues they will use the word 'hand' to avoid confusion. On occasion they have even been known to use the term 'paw'.'

'Dragon clans are neither matriarchal nor patriarchal; they are ruled by a council of Elder dragons who have earned their place through trial, evaluation and election. The result of this is a vast equality between genders; although there is evidence in their songs and scriptures that this was not always so.'

**CHAPTER 5:**

_**Reconciliation – Deconciliation **_

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Se-_

Fwump.

_-ven._

Jiraath's front legs gave way as she exited the encampment side of the portal, she remained in that position – her rump in the air and her chin in the dirt – until Weylin laughed through the portal. She righted herself, felt dizzy and teetered over to the fireside logs and slumped onto the ground. A quick glance around her told her that the others had mostly the same idea. Sit down as quickly as possible. Even through the weariness that she could feel there was a tangible tension between everyone.

After Javyn's outburst at Kedar everyone seemed to be giving in a little to the strain. There were a few sharp glances or snappy retorts being passed around. Jiraath pitied the paladin, his body language spoke volumes about how he was uncomfortable, and perhaps a little out of his depth. Javyn retreated to the men's tent.

Jiraath found herself on the other side of the fire to the humans, whether that had been purposeful or not; she decided to ignore it and closed her eyes to doze. Shapes flicked back and forth in the darkness before her eyes, they never took forms, but they were there just beyond the blackness waiting. Waiting for her. Jiraath started into wakefulness, still staring at the back of her eyelids; there was the sound of footsteps and worn cloth rubbing next to her; she smelled old hands and books and leather. When she opened her eyes to view the source of the unfamiliar scent she noticed the man they called Deckard Cain sitting next to her.

Now here was an example of how humans got old. His skin had wrinkles like he had fit it once but no longer did, his hair was white and thinned and his skin had splots of darker colour; like he had been out in the sun while wearing shirt with many small holes in it.

As Jiraath sat up Tamsin appeared, she was carrying with her a pair of gloves that they had discovered in a chest during their assault on the catacombs.

'Deckard Cain.' He looked up at her with a smile, 'I found these gloves in the catacombs, and they have strange inscriptions on them. I wondered if you would be able to tell me their purpose.'

_Sweetheart, they go on your hands._

Regardless of Jiraath's thoughts, Cain took the proffered gloves and turned them over in his hands. His face creased as his ran his fingers over the inscription. After a few moments of silence, he raised a finger and tapped them on the back.

'These are called Gloves of the Apprentice, so named as many mages fashioned and them for their apprentices to wear.' He handed them back to Tamsin. 'They are most appropriate for you as they will increase the speed at which you concentrate the energy you need to cast your spells.' Tamsin looked rather impressed at that; although Jiraath thought that her expression was similar to the one they used for shock, so she may have been mildly surprised at their usefulness.

_This gives me an idea._ She stood and wandered over to what currently was the predominantly human side of the fire. Jiraath herself had found an amulet with a pretty red gem inset at the centre as they scoured the catacombs for the next staircase downwards. It was diamond shaped and the dragoness thought that it was very pretty, even compared to the blood gems that lined the nests of her clan. She snuffled around in Weylin's bag, as that was where it had been placed, until she found it. She pulled her nose out of the bag and saw Weylin and Bran watching her with an expression that could really only be interpreted as amused. Indignantly, Jiraath turned and trotted back to Cain; she dangled the amulet on its chain in front of him, waiting patiently for him to notice. When he did look up he smiled as he had at Tamsin, he showed less teeth though.

'Well, little dragon, do you have something you would like me to take a look at as well?'

Jiraath considered her reaction and then resorted to the head bobbing that humans did as an affirmation. Cain nodded in return and turned his attention to the amulet. He did not take nearly as long to recognise it has he had Tamsin's gloves.

'This is an interesting amulet, it has two affects on its wearer.'

_Like what? Stops gates to hell opening as long as the wearer is the heir to its creator? Or consumes your mind with the darkness of the evil overlord who has sealed his soul into it?_

'Well, first of all it has the amusing charm to it of increasing your chance of coming across money. Secondly it will minutely increase your reaction time.'

_Oh, goody._

'Although, I'm not entirely sure how it would do that. Perhaps it sharpens your mind to offensive manoeuvres? Ah, I am babbling.' _Why yes you are._ 'Would you like me to put it on you?' He opened up the chain and held it up along with his question. Again, Jiraath bobbed her head in response and Cain undid the clasp and put the chain around her neck. The amulet sat snugly at the point where the top of her keel bone and her clavicles met. She looked up and noticed a large bulk standing behind Cain.

_There is a pig-man behind you._

Jiraath stared over Cain's shoulder in hopes that he would notice her change in attention; eventually he caught on and followed her gaze.

'Hello, Gheed. What brings you here?'

'Aw, nuthin', I just over heard you talking to this lizard here. And it got me wondering: what need does a lizard have for an amulet like that?'

Jiraath raised the spines along the back of her neck and dug her claws into the ground. _Call me a lizard one more time, meat bag, I dare you._

Cain, in his wisdom, cut in; 'She is a dragon, Gheed, and the amulet could well help the rest of the group.'

'Sure, sure.' He rubbed his hands together, whether in nervousness or anticipation, Jiraath was not bothered to tell. This man had called her a lizard, and unlike the others, she didn't have to work with him. 'But, y'know…' Gheed made an ambiguous gesture of his hands that Jiraath had difficulty interpreting. 'What with all the saying that dragons are smart; if it wanted to gamble it for one of my little treasures, well…I'm just back there by my cart.' He chuckled and wandered away; leaving Cain with a concerned expression as he watched Jiraath flick her tail-tip deviously. Or at least she hoped that she had managed a devious expression. Upon returning her attention to the aging human before her, she noticed that from somewhere on his body he had produced a couple of scrolls; one more tattered and torn than the other.

He unrolled the more tattered one with one hand and placed the other one on the ground, the dexterity required impressed Jiraath to no ends. Over one of the curled corners she could see a black ink sketch surrounded by spidery handwriting. The sketch seemed to have eight limbs, from where she was that was all she could tell. Having no further interest, she turned her attention, once again, to the other side of the fire; her eyes met those of the Amazon and they held gazes for a moment, before Jiraath started to feel awkward and broke eye contact.

Cain had noticed the muted exchange; he indicated this with a clearing of his throat.

'She does not trust you.'

_I got that much._ Jiraath flicked an ear at him.

'This is not unwarranted, though.' The dragoness curled her tail around her hindquarters; she looked at the man sideways; in every way asking him to explain himself. 'The Amazon clans from the Torojan Jungles in the Marshlands and, as you may know, a cousin of yours tends some of those areas as well.' _Meultakkarai, slimy snake bastards. We don't like them either, they were mean motherf-_ 'The Amazon clans often have fought with them, many times the jungle serpents have killed some of them, so it would not be surprising if she perhaps has lost a clanmate.'

_Clanmate._ Jiraath hummed. This was something that she understood. In dragon – M'Iirai – society, the clan was of utmost importance; children were not just raised by their parents, but by every member of the clan. If a clanmate was killed then they would be avenged. She stood, her mind made up, she walked around the fire and sat down in front of the Amazon. The woman looked up at her, Jiraath could see the muscles in her jaw clench and unclench, anger or fear or reservation, something akin to these emotions could be identified in her expression, in her eyes.

Jiraath held her gaze, and dipped her head, holding it at its lowest point for several seconds before raising it to gauge Kiyana's reaction. The Amazon blinked a few times, clearly trying to figure out exactly what the action meant. Jiraath sighed in exasperation, trust humans to have no idea what it meant; Weylin would have, but he was a druid. So the dragoness decided to take a different tack, she pushed herself up to balance on her hind legs and tail, still in a sitting position; from there she extended her right hand in the manner she had observed humans to do when they were offering a 'hand shake'. Kiyana seemed to understand this gesture, but paused and eyed Jiraath over.

She reached out with her right hand and shook Jiraath's extended paw. Jiraath, having returned to the more comfortable and less balanced position of having her forepaws on the ground, quietly fluted her appreciation. She received a single, firm pat on the head.

Jiraath bobbed her head and stood to walk away, when Kiyana muttered quietly behind her:

'Sorry about the arrows in your butt.'

Jiraath attempted something of a smile, pulling the corners of her mouth back without showing teeth; the Amazon raised an eyebrow – something Jiraath still did not understand – and her mouth tilted a bit.

They were eating stew again, Kestrel received the carcass of whatever had been used, and it looked like rabbit, had the same texture as rabbit but tasted like chicken. And the one chicken carcass among the two rabbit ones tasted like rabbit.

This phenomenon was quickly forgotten when she discovered another crispy red capsicum. She gnawed on it with highly focused delight.

Over the sound of her teeth on the capsicum she could hear Weylin and Kedar discussing something. They were trying to be quiet but she could hear them rather clearly, thanks to her mobile ears which she flicked in their direction and tuned into their conversation.

'...with anything that is living, I can at least kind of sense emotion, the connection is greater with animals; but even with humans I can sense the more base animal-like emotions. Fear. Fight or flight. That sort of thing.'

'And...?' Kedar prompted Weylin to continue his explanation.

'And I cannot feel anything from her. Nothing, not fear, not anger, it is like where there should be something, there isn't.' Weylin was shaking his hands gently in front of his chest to emphasise the importance of the point he was trying to make.

There was a pause from both of them and Jiraath was tempted to glance further at them, but decided that they would stop talking if they knew that she could hear them.

'She is evidently as intelligent as any dragon.'

'But...?'

Weylin sighed and Jiraath caught the motion of his hand moving to his face in frustration, he seemed to pause to think.

'Bran can't sense 'life' inside her.'

Jiraath almost choked on her capsicum, its flavour disappeared from her mouth. _But... he said that I was... _

'Well that would explain something.' Kedar said, cutting into Jiraath's thoughts, she focused on listening. 'When everyone had buggered off to the Forgotten Tower and I was keeping an eye on our little dragoness...' he trailed off, trying to find words to describe something that was difficult to describe to someone who was not a necromancer, 'we made eye contact, and just briefly it was like _looking_ at the connection that a necromancer will create between a retrieved soul and whatever body that it is put in. You can't describe it. Only... it wasn't the same, like the connection was connected to something else.'

'So she's uh... undead.'

'In a way, but not.'

'What?'

'She interfaces too completely with the body. It isn't necromancy, or if it is, it is only something that one of the highest priests of Rathma can achieve.'

Jiraath couldn't listen anymore, she felt hurt but did not understand why, so she stood and trotted back over to where Cain was pouring over his scrolls, and curled up by his feet. She heard only one more thing as she left their vicinity.

'Shit.'

---

_I swear the next chapter will be epic. I am so sorry that nothing keeps happening. I just need to establish stuff. Or maybe I don't, but... I did. Yuh._

_I hope that some of you caught the reference to Elderscrolls IV: Oblivion in there, and Lord of the Rings. If you didn't, look back at where she is giving the amulet to Cain._ }:=83

_Also, you will notice that I have introduced this chap called Adijhan._

_Adijhan was an academic from Lut Gholein who travelled with a friend, a dragon known only as Emetic, and recorded much about dragons, there were many prints of his book made; however few remain, a copy is held by most major dragon clans, and there are a few in human libraries. He was welcome among many dragon clans as an ambassador and his work made him well loved among the dragons. It was an ironic pity that he was killed by a dragon, one of the dragonic extremists from an 'Ughurn' (All-or-nothing) clan._

_Of course I made this chap up. So he's deliciously intangible, isn't it great?_

_I want to start putting 'excerpts' from his book at the beginning of each chapter, so if for some reason someone asks a question relating to the M'Iirai – dragons – I can bullshit an excerpt for it. Put a bit of M'aiq the Liar in there, ehehehe, like why there are no horses... heheheh... cream sauce._

_Thanks to the Phreno and Grimmy._

_I THOUGHT THE TITLE WAS CLEVER_


End file.
